Back to the Beginning- Revised
by Venture Wood-angelofmusic75
Summary: This is the re-edited, almost re-written tale of Back to the Beginning, as I found the original atrocious. For you newbies, Erik has just left the burning opera house with the intent of giving himself up. But to whom? This story is E/C, though I am not necessarily a Raoul-hater. Unless that is any incentive for you to read it, in which case, I despise Raoul. Please read! New twists


**_So! Due to a one-vote poll, shame on all of you who didn't vote, I've decided to re-write Back to the Beginning! I guess I don't really mind the original, except for the plot-line. I wish I had actually plotted it all out before writing. Actually... Yes... Yes, I think I do mind the original. I honestly think it's atrocious, but that's just my opinion. And I am the writer of the original. So I can have whatever opinion I want. _**

**_I hope all of you who read the previous story, and by that I mean the original story, are here, eager to read. If not, read anyway. I promise it will be worth your while! _**

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_Prologue: _

It was a dark, biting cold that ravaged at the skin of the man who exited the smoking building just behind him, and the worst part about it was that he did not care. Suffering was the only thing he deserved, so he embraced the painful cold that bit into the very innermost part of him, the physical pain bringing slight solace to his aching and broken heart.

He had good reason for rejoicing in this pain, however. Only moments before had he set free his one true love with the man she loved most desperately, both of them playing the parts of the perpetrators who would forever be deemed, at least in the man's mind, as those responsible for the upbringing of his almost certain demise. In other words, the man knew he would die, and he knew who would be responsible for his death.

Why was life so cruel? So bitterly, painstakingly cruel? The briefest appearance of hope in a man's life was like covering himself in assorted meats and walking straight into the jungle, expecting the animals to be kind enough to leave him be. At least, so is this analogy towards Life. Once the briefest of wafts coming from the tantalizing smell of hope hits the animal that is, and always will be, Life, the animal seizes and attacks, leaving nothing left but a withered heart and a broken soul.

This was the attitude the man held as he stumbled down the street, the remainder of tears blurring his vision, his muscles aching, and his movements reeking of lonely, dishonorable concession. This was the attitude he held as he left the city-skirts and walked painfully onward, unsure of his destination or what drove him any longer.

At last, as dawn once again broke over the horizon, the man stumbled and fell beside the road. Physically unable, and mentally unwilling, the man remained in this spot, sharp rocks bruising and impaling his flesh, the trickle of blood running slowly down his skin. His feet throbbed, but he could hardly tell, for he was no longer aware of his situation. He thought he felt a trickle of tears, as well, as he lay beside the lonely road, weeds littering the roadside with despair, painting a picture of the dismal circumstances of the man once called Erik, a man who no longer deserved a name... Just a nameless face left to rot on the side of the road, scavengers already crying above and around, feeding off of the man's aura of despair and death, for death was already pounding in his veins. If a man had not a reason to live, death always had a reason for the man to die.

Exhaustion swept over the battered man, and as he closed his lids, ready to embrace death, the smallest, yet most colorful of butterflies flew from the middle of the sky, almost as a gift from God, with its purpose set in mind. It flew just above the man, it's vibrant yellow contrasted against the still fairly dark sky, and as the man fell deeper into sleep, he glimpsed the butterfly. The butterfly just reached the end of his sight, as his lids fell shut . The man descended into a dreamless sleep, unaware of the symbolism behind the butterfly, nor would he ever be aware. Even so, the butterfly had completed its task, and slowly flew into the distance where it disappeared, for now, until men would need its reassurance once again.

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**_Bonus points if you can tell me what the butterfly represents! I'll put up the next chapter extra quick, and will dedicate that chapter to the first person who correctly guesses! _**

**_Please tell me what you think! I'm rather eager to know how I did... And whether I've grown or not since the original. _**

**_~VW_**

**_P.S. Other chapters will be longer. Much longer. This, as it states above, is just a short prologue. _**


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